Living for the Night
by JCullen23
Summary: Madalyn is a beautiful girl from the early 1900's New England. She's spent her quietly awkward exisistance living her life through books. What will happen when the perfect man finally shows up in her life? Based on some of the Twilight characters.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

There are very few things in life about which one can be certain. As I sat in my room preparing for a party that I would never attend had it been a choice of mine, I went over thoughts in my head that I, in my own mind could be certain about. I realized a long time ago, that I never fit in anywhere. Not the way I was supposed to anyhow. Turn of the century New England had rather strict social standards for their society elite. I did my best to fit in for my mother's sake, but never did I try as hard as I knew was expected. I found myself too shy for society life like my mother.

My family was different than many others from this area, but none the less wealthy or highly looked upon. My mother and father, like so many others, married not for love, but for the connections they could receive from a life with one another. Their lives on the outside were happy and contented, but there was no love between them and I've always doubted if their marriage was ever even consummated. After many unhappy years together, my mother announced that she wanted a child. Three weeks later, my father brought me from Chicago, where I was born to Maine where they lived. I had always suspected that I was not really of blood relation to them. My mother, Elizabeth, was very tall and almost olive complected. Although her hair was pale blonde, she had deep brown eyes and very plain features. My father, Joseph, had been a bright red headed child, that thankfully faded slightly with age. He also had brown eyes and a brown beard that I really never liked much. Though he was in his mid forty's, even now, he seemed to have freckles that never faded away from his youth.

I was very different from both of them. I had very light skin, "like cream", the girls at school used to remark. My hair was mahogany brown, which seemed to have red undertones in the sunlight, and appeared jet black at night. My eyes were a bright green, which my father said inspired him to buy an emerald ring and matching earrings for my thirteenth birthday. Furthermore, unlike either of my parents I was rather short and petite. When I was ten, I asked them both straight out. They were shocked with my boldness and weren't sure how to answer except to blurt out the truth that I had been adopted. It seems to bother them much more than it ever bothered me. Even though I wasn't their child, it didn't matter to me really. I loved them, they were my family.

I'd blossomed into womanhood early and from the moment I'd turned fourteen, suitors by the dozen started turning up on my doorstep. My mother was thrilled that my, "ravishing beauty," as she'd called it on more than one occasion, was attracting boys and men from miles around. It did nothing more than embarrass and annoy me. My mother's joy didn't last long, she soon realized that my maladroit personality kept them from coming back more than two or three times. By the time I was sixteen, they had completely stopped coming, much to my relief. I would be eighteen in a few months, and according to my mother, had secured a position for myself as an old maid by turning all those men away. Apparently I'd labeled myself as the unattainable and uninteresting beauty. I'd never minded being alone, in fact, I preferred it. I was that, 'one in a million' girl that spent her days and nights nose deep in books of all kinds. I loved the rush of excitement from a decent plot line, and especially knowing I myself didn't have to endure the trials and tribulations that came with doing it all in real life.

Needless to say, I was very well read. Mother found no point in books, she said they got me nowhere. My father hadn't much to say. I'd always been his pride and joy, I don't think if I'd had webbed toes and feathers he would have seen anything at all wrong with me. To him, whatever I did was just perfect. I think he secretly was glad that he wasn't having to fight men off his only daughter with a stick. He knew none of that interested me.

Although I would never admit it to anyone, I knew that the gnawing feeling I got sometimes while I lay alone in the darkness of my room, was regret and loneliness. Though none of the men that had ever come to call had interested me, I wondered secretly to myself if I truly would, always indeed be alone. That thought haunted my dreams on rare occasions, waking up an old woman, alone in my room, no family, no friends, surrounded head to toe, with stacks of dusty books. I shuddered at the thought and pushed it to the back of my mind.

Charlotte our house worker had finished fixing my hair, which now hung in ringlet curls more than half way down to my waist, and helped me into my dress. I was always thankful to have her around, especially when getting ready for parties. The dresses that were supposed to be worn to parties like this always seems to need more than one person to get into. Sadly, this made those dresses vastly more uncomfortable than the ones I liked to spend my days around the house in, Those at least, didn't require a corset and an army of helpers to put them on. This dress in particular was from a shopping trip my father had taken me on in New York City. He always wanted me to have the finest clothes in the newest fashions, and my mother also insisted upon this. Again, I think this was in her hope that would finally attract a potential husband.

Although I usually never cared, this dress was definitely one the favorite ones I'd ever had. It was a white floor length silk bodice with a dipping 'V' neck and no sleeves. It had a lace sash that went across one shoulder around my breast and connected at the hip. Around the hips was another silk piece that billowed out slightly to accentuate my petite waist line. It gathered in the back making a train that flared out slightly behind the dress. My favorite part was starting under the arm of the right side of the dress were various shades of hand embroidered blue flowers. Each one having tiny sliver beads in the center. They must have taken hours to make each one and they flowed down the side of the dress that cascaded like a waterfall to the floor.

When Charlotte had helped me finish dressing, I sat down at the vanity and put on the new shade of lipstick that I'd bought. I stood up, taking one last look in the mirror before picking up my white mesh wrist length gloves and slipping them on my hands. I began to feel overwhelmed an I slowly descended the stairs to the hall where my mother and I departed out the front door and stepped into the carriage.

Sitting quietly absorbed by thoughts of dread mixed with the rush of my brain to try to think of topics I could talk about with no inept lapse in the conversation, I realized that we soon had pulled into the drive of the Johnson's house.

"Mother? Remind me again what this party is for?" I didn't want to seem foolish if someone mentioned it and I had no idea why I was truly there.

"It's more of a duel event," she remarked without looking at me. "We are trying to raise money for a new wing on the hospital, and there is a new family in town that may be willing to help with the donation toward that. The charity committee I'm on would like them to feel as welcome as possible."

"Here were are," stated the driver as he pulled open the door for us to get out. My mother stepped out first and I followed. We walked quietly and gracefully up the front steps and the butler held the door open for us as we entered. Looking inside, it took every particle of restraint in me, not to be sick all over the oriental rug.

As was typical for me at these parties, as soon as we arrived I would try to find myself a group of girls that would carry most of the conversation, so that I wouldn't have to think up things to say. I was not a socialite like my mother, who spent almost everyday involved with her friends catching up on the local gossip. I much preferred my own company and the company of a few people close to me.

I stood for at least a half and hour with the same group of chatty girls, some of who left to dance periodically, others who had empty dance cards but so much to say that it never bothered them. I didn't dance, ever. It's not that I couldn't, quite the opposite, I just detested the contact of strange men who seemed to stare at all the wrong places and times. The men who knew me knew better than to ask.

I pretended to listen as Mary Johnson and Rebecca Hadley gossiped and chatted away. I never had much to input, but sometimes I found it funny. I really couldn't understand sometimes why they cared so much about idle things. As the music played and the night wore on, I found it harder and harder to ignore the stares from a young man across the room I didn't know. Try as I might to stare at the floor and not notice, every time I looked up, he was staring right at me and every time I noticed my face went flush. I'd never seem him before tonight, which was strange to me. In the wealthy community my parents engaged themselves with it was very rare to find a newcomer, As I looked around further, I noticed a few more faces I didn't recognize, Four other than himself if my count was correct. All together in a group. One couple side by side, in their mid twenties I would guess, and two younger girls both around seventeen or eighteen I would guess. One girl seemed very happy, smiley, with dark shoulder length hair. She was short, even shorter than I am, and she had deep chocolate brown eyes. The other was beautiful strikingly so. She had long strawberry blond hair that if not intricately woven in an elegant style would have easily reached past her waist. She unlike the girl at her side, had blue eyes a half smile graced her lips. Without me knowing, suddenly the raging gossip turned and I was the focus.

"Madalyn, that boy is staring at you. He has been all night," Mary said with a soft giggle.

"Beg pardon?" I questioned quickly, mostly because I hadn't been paying good enough attention to realize anyone else had noticed.

"Right there, look," she stared straight through the crowd of dancers, her eyes focused on the young man that I had noticed but not recognized. Quiet giggles were now coming from all directions of the circle as Christine, a girl to my left said, "He's handsome." In shock, embarrassed and shy I wondered for about half a second what I should do before my nerves took over. My face immediately flushed bright pink and again I began to feel a sick nervousness in the pit of my stomach. All the girls around me seem to now have focused their attention on him. I began to comfort myself in the fact that maybe it hadn't been me he'd been looking at after all.

I was, in fact in a very large crowd of girls. Then, rather loudly, Martha Kent said, "He's coming over here." Soft squeals of delight and feverish giggles surrounded me and then I realized somewhere in my mind, that it WAS me he was looking for. This had me ever so quickly moving through the crowd away from those girls. I politely dodged and weaved my way through at least a dozen groups of people before stopping to pause for a moment. My face toward the wall, I slowly turned around, anxious to see if I was still being watched or followed. My face was toward the floor and when I looked up, to my shock, I stood face to face with the young man from the crowd.

I was stunned. He was breath taking. Nothing like I had ever seen before. I gasped audibly taken aback with his beauty. His deep bronze almost chocolate colored hair was a color I'd never seen and his eyes were golden with flecks of deep green. They were golden like topaz, or fields of wheat, maybe something in between, but they were not a color with a name. I was completely lost for an amount of time that I am not totally aware. For a moment, I'd lost all anxious feeling and was deadlocked in awe. I must have looked ridiculous standing there staring, but I'd lost all coherent thought, I had never been over taken by emotion for another person before and it was shocking to me. I think I'd forgotten to breathe for a moment and then he broke my trance when he said something, but I had no idea what it was he said. I stood there saying nothing too nervous to speak up, too embarrassed to admit I had been so smitten I hadn't heard.

Like a strike of lightening in a black night, suddenly dawned on me what he had said when he quickly but politely took me by the arm and moved me about three feet out further into the crowd. He'd asked me to dance, and in my stupor I hadn't heard him. Should I turn to run? I couldn't panic without looking insane. It was too late now, we were in the middle of a group of quick moving dancers and before I could protest, I was dancing. My hand in his, his other on my waist. His hands were warm. The one on my waist seemed to be boring heat in through my dress. After a few seconds I figured it wasn't so bad after all, I began to relax until I realized that he was doing most of the dancing. My feet very rarely were touching the floor. I was grateful for this because I'd been so taken aback, I didn't know what dance this was, and I was too flushed by his presence to remember steps even if I had known. I look up at him and our eyes locked. He stared into my eyes as if he was looking through me and into my soul.

The part that was the most bizarre to me was when the dance was over, it was as if he'd disappeared as quickly as he'd materialized in the first place. We'd bowed to each other quickly, as you do when a dance is over, and when I looked up he'd vanished. I'd looked left, then right and saw him no where. I couldn't believe that I felt slightly hurt, I wondered what I'd done wrong. I was shocked with myself because I spent the rest of the night, trying to look casually through the crowded room, around corners and even outside for a glimpse, never seeing him again. I spent the rest of the party hoping I hadn't made a fool of myself and wishing I'd meet up with those golden eyes again. To no avail, I left the party at quarter past midnight having seen no sign of him again and knowing nothing about him. I was at a loss for words.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

I arrived at home in what seemed like very little time due to my annoying thought preoccupation. My thoughts remained completely on him. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and made my way to the furthest end of the hall to my room. After getting in to my night clothes and brushing my hair, I sat on the trunk at the end of my bed. My lack of personal experience with the opposite sex had made me an oddity to all my friends. They were always thrilled with the attention of men, me on the other hand always seemed awkward. I always thought of things I should have said or done to seem more charming and less introverted, but too little too late I suppose. I thought of his eyes, deep and never ending. His hands, so warm, I thought I could still feel where his hand had touched my side. I held up my right hand, the one that had been in his. I studied it, trying to tell if I could still feel the warmth of his palm.

Suddenly, I laughed at myself shaking off the events of the evening thinking of silly I must have looking sitting there studying my own hand. This my not like me at all, and I was ready to put it all behind me. Very ready, but at once, a strong breeze gusted through the doors of my balcony with a loud bang and put out the light by my bed side. I sat frozen heart pounding from the sudden shock. I was shaking slightly trying to breathe to calm myself down. After a moment alone in the dark I stood and moved to my side table and began looking for matches. I opened and closed drawers moving around their contents. But as I fiddled around in the darkness and strange feeling came over me. A feeling that I was being watched. Maybe it was a deep seeded paranoia. I peered around, but saw nothing. I continued to scan around the room in the dark still seeing nothing. Then I knew I must be paranoid, but that didn't stop me from slowly creeping toward the window to peak through the slats to check the outside. Was I paranoid?

The moonlight poured into the room through the crack in the balcony doors cascading across the floor in streams. I peered out as silently as I could, all the while holding my breath, my heart pounding in my ears. I then noticed a strange glow. I was sure it was something I'd never seen before. Trying to get my eyes to focus, I then realized it was the glow of white skin in the moonlight. His skin, his beautiful pale skin. He stood there plain as day staring up at my room from below. He didn't move an inch, nor did I. I was sure for a second that my heart had stopped as I backed away from the window as quickly and silently as I could manage. I raised my hand to rest over my mouth as I digested the shock. What was going on here? Had I made him angry? Then in suddenly dawned on me, that perhaps he was an smitten with me, as I was with him. I quickly pushed that from my mind, but I could feel it creeping back in.

After a few seconds I began to slowly pace back and forth across the wooden floor boards trying to process what I should do now. Should I panic, run to get my mother? No. There was something in my that was deeply excited for whatever reason he had found to come here tonight. I would not ruin it. Suddenly, although I was scared, I got a sudden burst of curiosity. I wanted to throw open the door and walk outside. To question him, to see what he wanted, why he had come here. To stare back, and the beautiful form below. I fought the feelings of happiness and tried to replace them with guilt. I didn't want to become attached to a stranger, that was bizarre. I looked cautiously out the window slats again to make sure my eyes had not deceived me. I after all wanted to make sure I hadn't gone insane. But, there he stood, unmoving, unnerving, emotionless perfection, staring like a beautiful statue. It dawned on me that perhaps he knew I was there. Dear lord, I had no idea what I should do. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I felt momentarily lost. After a long minute and a pep talk from myself not to be a coward, I decided to take a few steps out the door to see if he moved or spoke. I was so insanely nervous that it took at least a minute to force my feet to move. Then, slowly, heart racing, I grasped the door handles and gradually pulled them half open. I took a step forward so that my face and the front of my short sleeved white sleeping gown was visible in the moon's glow. I didn't look at him at first, I just stared out toward the sky. It was a beautiful night, stars glimmered like a million tiny diamonds across a velvet black sky. The moon was almost completely full and was a beautiful yellowish white.

I glanced quickly out of the corner of my eye for one brief moment to see if he'd moved. Maybe the bold move on my part would scare him off. He stood, unwavering. He had a look on his face that I couldn't quite interpret. Something about the way he looked at me was completely at peace standing there staring at me. It was so beautiful, it almost broke my heart. Inside my head, I saw visions of me reaching out with my hand and stroking his cheek. He was like something out of one of my favorite romance novels, beautiful and perfect. My heart melted.

I kept very still for another minute before I made the decision to take a few steps outside. More brave than I perhaps had ever been, my feet propelled me forward. I stopped at the white columned railing and rested my hands there. Then, with all the courage I could muster, I turned my head and stared back into the face twenty feet below and thirty feet out. I felt a flood of emotions, it was all very strange to me. We were dead locked in an unbroken stare for sometime before I realized the intensity was honestly more than my momentary courage could handle. My legs felt weak, I got light headed and my breath seemed bated.

I broke the gaze suddenly returning back to my shy self and couldn't believe what I was doing. I couldn't believe how great the pull was from me to him. It was not unlike magnets. Every moment I stood there it became harder and harder to think about moving away. I had to take action before I lost all control of my emotions. I slowly backed up into the shadows and into my room. I took one more brief glance into his face before slowly shutting the doors and retreating to sit on the side of my bed. I buried my face in my hands feeling positive that I had humiliated myself. I thought if I ever saw him again I would be too embarrassed to show my face. How, I longed to see his face for one more second. No. Stop this foolishness. As badly as I wanted to, I was too scared to look to see if he was still there, I sat nervous and anxious for an least an hour before I felt calm enough to rest. I drifted off to sleeping wondering if he was still there watching.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The night was filled with dreams of mystery and confusion. Not really dreams but intense feelings coming over me in waves with no real pictures in my head behind them. There had been nothing to see. It was blackness, emptiness, and then a quick flash of his face. It was sheer pleasure, followed by intense sadness that I could no longer see him. Then there were be confusion, it was like a longing, then there was fear, horrible fear that I would not see him again. Then he would come again. A flash of his face and it would start again.

When I awoke in the morning, I had convinced myself that I had dreamed the whole encounter. I lie in bed, not wanting to move but eventually pulled myself up into a sitting position. I stretched and yawned getting to my feet. I moved slower than normal that morning. I took much longer than normal getting dressed and braiding my hair. I put on my light pink day dress that fell lightly off my shoulders. It had short slightly puffy sleeves that had beautiful darker pink beads around the sleeves. Just under my breasts was a darker pink satin waist line that stretched around the back and tied into a thin bow. The skirt was straight and airy ending just at the ankle. I parted my hair taking a piece from each side and wrapping it around my head and held it in the back with a beautiful pink dragonfly comb.

Sooner than I liked, I was headed downstairs to eat breakfast. My mother sat at her desk chatting with Charlotte about a few things that she wanted done. I moved past them quickly into the dining room where I sat alone and drank a cup of tea and eat a piece of very dry toast. I finished quickly and retreated to the garden where I planned to spend my day as I normally did, by the fountain, book in hand, enjoying one of the very rare nice weather days. In Maine, autumn came early. It was one of my favorite times a year, the beautiful leaves and the crisp air made the seascape lovely. I suppose it had been destined to be, after all, my middle name was Autumn. I settled myself on the garden bench, waiting for the sounds of my mother leaving the house before I could truly relax.

My mother was very rarely at home. She was always with friends or working with the charity for the hospital in town. We spoke very little, I think this was because she knew we had so little in common. I sometimes felt a bit like an outsider in my own home. I'd never fit in to the life style that should be suited to someone with such a beautiful home and wealthy family. Once in an argument, my mother had said I should have been the daughter of a poor man's wife. She accused that I cared nothing for the life style money could buy, and I knew she'd stopped herself from saying something she'd further regret. I was truly sorry that I wasn't the daughter she'd always hoped for. After that day, I am sad to say, we were never really close again.

Soon, I heard her leave and I wasted no time removing my shoes and walking freely about the grass in my bare feet. It was intensely green and smelled like warm sunshine. I loved it. Mother never approved of me doing such things, but in my opinion, something that relaxing might do her a bit of good. I spent the day involved in the mystery and romance of the novel I was reading and before I knew it, the sun began to sink low into the sky. I quickly grabbed my shoes and headed inside to get ready for dinner and my mothers impending return. I rushed up to the bathroom and washed quickly before returning to by room to dress. As I got ready and fixed my hair, my thoughts wrapped around the strange boy from the night before. My dark blue dinner dress brushed across the floor as I put the finishing touches on the bun in my hair. I deliberately took measured steps down the stairs so as not too look like a clumsy fool and when I reached the bottom rounded the corner to the dining room.

I sat down for dinner with my mother, my father wasn't around normally. He stayed in New York City to attend to business there. He usually came home a few weekends a month for parties or society events. I knew it had nothing to do with business. I had been fairly sure for years that he lived a separate life from my mother for all the obvious reasons. Mother acted like she had no idea.

My mother chatted happily as usual about her day. Gossip she'd heard, or people she'd seen were always a main topic of dinner conversation. I found myself knowing much more about the people around town than I would like. I normally tuned out most of the chatter, not being much of a lover of gossip personally. But, something she said caught my attention very abruptly.

"I'm sorry mother, what was that last" I said casually.

"I said, the hospital charity committee allowed the new doctor's wife to join. She's very sweet, very quiet. With three teenagers though, no doubt why," she laughed quietly.

"Teenagers, really? How many does she have?" I questioned trying not to sound too jumpy. She paused for a moment.

"Three of them. Two girls and boy. Strange story really. Not their children, her and husband I mean. They were his brothers children, apparently they died about ten years ago. All right in order in age," she stopped trying to recall.

"The two girls are sixteen and seventeen and the boy is eighteen."

"Hmm…." I mumbled trying not to sound too interested.

"But of course you know the boy," said my mother dryly.

"What boy?" I shot back, perhaps too quickly this time.

"Tristian," she said with curious raised eyebrows.

"Tristian?" my voice cracked slightly as my food fell off my fork.

"Yes, the first dance you've had since before your birthday party three years ago."

"Oh, yes." I said blushing but trying to shrug it off as though it meant nothing. She paused for a few seconds as if she thought something was fishy, then changed the subject back to idle gossip again and my mind slipped back into it's own thoughts. When I was finished eating, I excused myself and went up to my room. I took a few minutes to change. I brushed my teeth and undid my hair from the tight bun before settling down in a comfy chair by the window with a book.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy, don't be foolish," I sighed out loud. The scent of the air coming in through the open balcony doors was sweet and warm. I sat quietly in the deep chair and breathed in the sweet smell. It had been more warm than was normal for Maine, even in late summer. I planned on enjoying every moment of it. I was deeply involved in my book again when I heard a strangle rustling sound from the grass below, that sounded nothing like the wind to me. I peered out the open window to my side only to see a glimpse of the impossible. He stood outside staring up, just as he'd done the night before. I did a double take, but still my eyes had not played tricks on me.

I shot straight up from my chair dropping my book to the floor with a low thud. I paused for a minute before I sprung forward shutting the doors and closing the slats on the windows. For some reason, I had a reaction to his being there that I didn't expect. I was angry. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my breath came out in unforced huffs. I paced quickly and loudly across the floor. I hoped he could hear me. I hoped he realized what he was doing to me. Emotions filled me like a dam had been broken. I felt angry, confused, afraid, resentful, rageful, and then, I felt contemplation and small amounts of joyful undertones. But then, there was a hidden emotion buried beneath it all, desire. Desire was an emotion I'd never really felt before, but I'd read about such feelings in books. I let out a noisy sigh staring at my closed door.

I must have paced furiously for at least five minutes before my anger caught heavy hold over me causing me to throw open the doors to the outside bursting through. With a loud bang, the doors hit the side of the house. He didn't even flinch, not a millimeter. This made me livid. I wanted him to feel one tenth of the emotion I was feeling. It seemed as though he responded to nothing. I stood there and stared resentfully at him and it must have been ten minutes before I broke my stare or budged from that spot. I wanted to stay angry, I tried. But the longer I stood there staring at him, the less angry I became. Just as the night before, my emotions faded. I realized he had the same look on his face as the night before. It was like he was completely at peace again and nothing I did would shake him from it. Once again my heart melted and again felt anxious and embarrassed. This caused me to retreat from my staring attack. I stared at my feet, I willed my mouth to say what my brain shouted at me. Nothing came out, I slowly retreated to go back inside, I took one more look at him, this time, I let a small smile cross my lips before shutting the doors behind me. I felt I'd made a fool of myself. I wasn't sure where the anger came from, but I now found it foolish. There wasn't much I wouldn't have done to take back that way I had acted. I lie down on my bed hoping I would wake up in the morning and this wouldn't have happened. My heart ached for him but again I told myself, "It's all a dream," as I faded off to sleep.


End file.
